The Forgotten
by Fair-Ithil
Summary: There are some things Claire Littleton wouldn't mind forgetting..."


**Disclaimer:**Don't own Lost.

**A/N:** Spoilers through Homecoming... A hint of Charlie/Claire.

* * *

There some things Claire Littleton wouldn't mind forgetting.

She'd like to forget the cold hospital her father died in, the blinding white lights, the sheer emptiness of the halls. She'd like to forget her mother's wails and her own confusion at the event.

She'd like to forget the very first time she fought with her mother, _really_ fought. The sounds of doors slamming and doors being thrown open and her normally calm, rational, mother wild eyed and simply _furious_, having gotten a call from school informing her that Claire had been found with cigarettes in the bathroom. She'd tired to explain that they hadn't been hers, she was just holding them for Jean, but her mother kept yelling, kept pointing, kept waiting for her to apologize for something she hadn't done, her mother kept _pushing_ her until Claire snapped and yelled she wished Emma Littleton had died instead of Jacob.

She'd like to forget the silence that filled the house in the weeks that followed.

Claire wishes she could forget the last time she talked to her mother.

She'd come home early from work and Claire had invited Thomas up. They hadn't been doing anything, just lying in her bed covered with Indian sarongs, the heavy scent of incense in the room, talking, and she was lacking a shirt but other than that it was utterly innocent. Her mother hadn't seen that however, her mother refused to see that. She'd sent Thomas running, and then hurled sharp words at her daughter. Claire knew the years had not been kind to her mother but in those moments she'd been angry, declaring she knew what she wanted and she wanted Thomas. She _loved_ Thomas.

"You're a foolish girl, you don't know what love is."

"I know more about love than you think."

There was a defining silence and her mother looked her in the eye and set in motion, perhaps the rest of her life. She'd left that day.

She wishes she could forget Thomas, forget how she trusted him, how he made her believe she could really go through with her pregnancy only to walk out on her when it became too much for him…She wishes she could forget how when he walked out of the loft, he took her ability to trust with him.

She wishes she could forget Richard Malkin because quite frankly it's the best she can do, seeing as she can't turn back time and just never meet the man. Claire wishes she could erase that man from her mind, as the ever thought of him makes her feel uncomfortable, betrayed, confused. _Why didn't he seen this?_ followed by the icy thought that there never had been a couple in Los Angeles.

Claire won't mind forgetting the groan of metal and the sight of bodies being hurled about, some sit in their seats. She'd like to forget the sound of bones snapping and strangers screaming in her ears, and the baby kicking right as the plane plummeted.

She'd like to forget hollow eyes and twisted limps and the pain that shot from her back to her legs to the swell of her belly making her worry more than she had on the plane.

Claire would willingly forget the smell of rotting flesh, burning hair…even the phrase 'corrective lenses' is forever tainted to her.

She'd like to forget the sight of blood on her hands that struck too close to heart, the fear of some faceless attacker on her part and the doubt in everyone else.

She's like to forget the look in Ethan's eyes as he openly stared at her swollen stomach, almost as though he didn't see her at all, just the baby inside.

She'd to erase the sound of her own voice screaming as Charlie was pulled away and her blind fold was removed in order to show her the price her one friend had paid in order to save her and her child. She'd personally extract the sight of him kicking midair, hands clawing at the vines around his neck, face contorted, red, and then…no movement, no haggard wheezing, just the sight of him limp in the air over her head. She'd wipe her memory clean of the sound of Ethan's voice just before he disappeared into woods, _"He'll be our distraction and our message."_

She'd like to forget the look in Charlie's eyes as he stood in the rain, gun in hands, a look about him that scared her more than perhaps Ethan ever did. Ethan after all had been a bad guy, it was perfectly rational to be afraid of him. But even then, so early on in their newly reborn friendship, Charlie had been sweet and caring and the man who shot Ethan was nothing of the sort.

Claire would like to forget forgetting, the confusion and frustration of knowing you know but not knowing all the same, as though some taunting hand was holding the knowledge just out of her reach, pulling it just a bit further the closer she got.

But all these things come back to, sometimes wrapped in dreams that start as different memories, paced by a distant voice counting in sugarplum faeries, sometimes during the day while she sits before the ocean alone, not truly trying to remember…all these things come back and become muddled together with peanut butter and fish that makes her baby dance inside her belly and a bucket hat that made her feel as though maybe the crash was really just a detour, a mini vacation. All the fear and horror and sadness come back and taint her again, soiling the blank slate the island gave her, however small it was.

In the end, there really were just some things Claire won't mind forgetting.


End file.
